


Chasing Concorde

by QueensJenn



Series: Always [3]
Category: Ylvis
Genre: AU No Wives No Kids, Angst, Brotherly feels, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1810642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueensJenn/pseuds/QueensJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They had almost tricked themselves into believing that things were going to be okay. The stage show had ended. The schedule had smoothed out. </p><p>It was...better.</p><p>But things are never that easy, and the brothers find themselves facing the biggest decision they've ever had to make. </p><p>How far will you go to find peace? What is the price for freedom?</p><p>How far is too far?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place shortly after "The Hardest Call."

The writer’s room is silent. Bård feels like all eyes are on him and he twists his hands below the table so the others, including the production company rep won’t see them.

He can practically hear Vegard in his head, urging him to speak up and say no. 

It’s such a little thing. It’ll take barely more than twenty seconds. All he has to do is sit in Vegard’s seat and stuff his face with a loaded hamburger. He doesn’t even have to say anything, doesn’t have to even look at the camera or the audience. 

He swallows thickly to smother the fluttery, panicky feeling in his throat that makes him want to just sweep the computers and papers off the table and declare the meeting over and the hapless writer fired, before he has to explain why he never, ever wants to do this sketch.

Not even a sketch, the rational part of his mind reminds him. It’s just an eyecatch. Just a bit of absurdity as they go into a commercial break, and then never referenced or thought of again.

“I…” he falters. “I’m not sure.”

“What’s wrong with it?” asks Arne, the rep from the production company. “I think it’s pretty funny.”

Bård clenches his fist below the table. Why had they ever decided it was a good idea to let Arne sit in? It’s not that the man himself is objectionable - on the contrary, he’s actually quite pleasant and friendly - but he has two main weaknesses: 1) he has no understanding of how to write comedy, and 2) he has a crush on Hanne, the only female writer on staff, and the one who had just proposed the idea of Bård randomly eating a hamburger as Vegard sat behind the desk and did the send-off to commercial break.

It’s not even that it’s a bad idea in itself - that kind of absurdity is what they’re known for. 

It’s just - why does it have to be _that._ Out of all the things he could be doing, why does it have to be _that?_ Because now he can’t even explain why he doesn’t want to do it.

“What about me?” Vegard volunteers. “I could do it.”

Bård flashes him a look somewhere between gratitude and irritation, and even he isn’t sure which he’s feeling more.

Hanne nods. “I like the dichotomy of Bård doing it better. Contrast the main host who is always focussed on his job, acting like the secondary host who often…isn’t. Sorry.” She shrugs apologetically at Vegard. “And David is already known for doing weird things in the periphery, like in the opening dances, so I just think it’s the most effective if Bård does it, especially since it’s never going to be referenced again.”

The worst thing is, she’s _right_. It makes perfect sense for Bård to be doing something out of character in the eyecatch. This isn’t personal. Hanne knows nothing. She’s only looking out for the quality of the show. She’s only doing her job, and she’s very good at it.

It won’t make doing it any easier, but somehow he’s able to accept it if it’s for the good of the show. He knows it’s what he has to do.

Vegard looks like he’s going to protest again, but Bård stops him with a nearly imperceptible shake of his head.

“You’re right,” he says, though the words taste like ashes. “It makes more sense for me to do it.”

Hanne grins brightly, and Bård focusses on that; wishing he could feel the same joy in his job.

~~~

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Bård sighs and sits back in his chair. He’d been expecting Vegard to come in all afternoon, but his brother had waited until almost everyone was gone from the office before making his objections known.

“What was I supposed to do?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She was right about the theory behind it. It makes the most sense for me to be doing it.”

“You could have asked why it had to be about eating anything at all.”

“And then that would lead to awkward questions about just why I had a problem with that.” Bård shakes his head. “There was no real way out of it.”

“You’re the boss.”

“ _Arne_ is the boss.”

“Oh, fuck Arne!”

“No thanks.” Bård wrinkles his nose, and it has the intended effect. Vegard huffs a laugh and runs a hand through his hair. 

“So what now?”

“I’ll do the scene.”

“And you’ll be…all right?”

Bård sighs and sits back in his chair. It’s still a very new thing for him, to talk so openly about… _It,_ and it’s difficult and uncomfortable and embarrassing. But this is Vegard he’s talking to, the one person he can hide nothing from. Besides, his mind reminds him uncomfortably, Vegard is affected by this shit as well. He has a right to know. 

“I don’t know,” he admits. It’s tempting to lie, but he won’t. He owes his brother that much.

“Shit… _Goddammit_ you were doing so well! What’s it been? Six, seven months?” 

“Six months, 23 days,” Bård says quietly. 

Vegard looks away, stroking his lips like he does when he’s deep in thought. Bård looks the other way. He can’t bear to see the look of disappointment in Vegard’s face, and the frustration; to see how much his brother wants to tell him to _just get over it already, stop fucking everything up._

“I’m sorry.”

Vegard looks back to him. “For what?”

“Everything.” _And dragging you into it with me._

“This isn’t your fault, Bård.”

 _It’s easy for you to say that, but do you really believe that?_  

He forces himself out of that line of thinking. It’s not helpful, and it’s terribly unfair. 

“What’s done is done,” he says quickly. “I’ll just do it and get it over with, and deal with it.”

Vegard looks at him with a piercing gaze. “And our agreement?”

 _“_ I’ll honour it. _If_ it becomes necessary.”

“Good.” 

“Satisfied?”

“Not in the slightest.” Vegard sits down on the couch and scrubs his hands over his face. 

“What now?” 

Vegard shakes his head. “I’m…worried.”

“We’ve been over this —“

“It’s not just that. That’s a big part of it.” He licks his lips, then looks around, as if looking for someone who might be lurking in the shadows. “I just…I have…a bad feeling about things.”

“What kind of bad feeling?” Bård asks cautiously. He knows he has to tread carefully now; one wrong word will send Vegard running. 

Vegard looks like he’s about to speak, then shakes his head. “I don’t know. I’m being stupid, I think.”

“How about you tell me, and I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Nah, it’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” 

Bård resists the urge to tell him that if it’s something that concerns their show, then he has the right to know. Getting stern with Vegard rarely helps; it generally pushes him in the opposite direction, and he can’t deal with that right now. So he just shrugs. 

“Yeah,” Vegard says, almost to himself. “It’s nothing.” He stands up. “It’s late, I’m going to head home. You should too.” He gives his little brother one last searching look. “Are you going to be okay?”

Bård nods. “I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Vegard nods. “See you.” He stops in the doorway of the office and hesitates, as though he’s going to offer some words of encouragement. But nothing comes to him, so he just awkwardly carries on. And Bård is almost glad of that because really, there’s no words that can prepare him for what’s ahead. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never, right? I feel like parts of this chapter are really, really cliche, but hey...cliche's happen for a reason, right?

As much as he doesn’t want it to, the next day does come, and at 11:00, Bård finds himself in the studio dressing room, getting ready to film. The episode is already finished, of course, but the bosses had decided there needed to be a few tweaks to it, and there they were.

He tries not to look at the large, full-length mirror on the wall until it’s absolutely necessary. At times, he was almost tempted to cover it, but he knew that would just bring up more questions - he wasn’t the only person that used the room, and a missing mirror would be entirely too noticeable.

He keeps his eyes firmly averted until he’s fully dressed.

_He’s 14 years old, and it’s the day the roles for the school play will be announced. He’s the only ninth-grader to have made it this far, and the annoying voice in the back of his head reminds him that it’s only because Vegard is the drama teacher’s pet that he’s here._

_Maybe he should be annoyed, but right now, being “Vegard’s little brother” is the best thing he could have asked for, because, to everyone’s surprise (except Vegard’s, oddly enough) Bård is being considered for the lead role in the play. He knows better than to get his hopes up, but it’s hard not to - the teacher has been dropping hints all over the place that Bård will get it._

_The auditorium is dark; the only light is on the stage. He allows himself, for one brief moment, to look out at the rows and rows of seats and try to imagine what it would be (will be) like to perform in front of a full house. His heart is racing and there’s a pounding in his ears: this is where he is meant to be._

_The quiet murmur of noise quiets down as the director enters. Everyone gathers around, waiting expectantly as he puts his papers and things down on the desk, the knowing smile on his face indicating that he_ knows _what he’s doing. Finally, he pulls a sheet of paper out of his briefcase and clears his throat._

_“All right, everyone, you’ve been very patient. Now for what you’ve all been waiting for. It wasn’t an easy decision to cast this play; everyone who auditioned was exceptionally talented. Well, except for a few.”_

_Muted snickers in the crowd as everyone knew who he was referring to. Bård bounced a little on the balls of his feet in impatience._

_“Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to start from bottom to top. If you’re here, but aren’t casted in a main role, that means you’re in the chorus. Is that clear?”_

_Nods and murmurs of assent. The director begins. Bård tunes him out; he wasn’t up for any of the smaller roles, and he can’t seem to focus anyway. He can’t stop staring at the rows of seats. It’s not the first time he’s been on the stage, but the curtain has never been opened before._

_He knows he’s made to be here. No, he’s always known that. He’s known that since the first time he saw Vegard up here, and wanted — needed — to try it for himself._

_His friend elbows him in the side to get his attention as the director moves up the list, and Bård realizes that’s he at the top. He’s announcing the lead roles. Suddenly there’s a buzzing in his hears and his hands feel numb. He swallows drily, and wonders if he’s about to throw up._

_“Our lead female this year - Annika Jørgensen. And for our lead male…Erik Sorem.”_

_It’s cliche, but in that moment, Bård really does feel like the world has just come crashing down around him. He wonders in a flash if this is some kind of joke and looks around desperately searching for some kind of sign. But everyone else is milling around, looking bored, except for the ones who got their desired roles, of course._

_Hot, bitter disappointment wells up in his throat, and for a minute he thinks he’s going to throw up. He’s restless and needs to move. It’s tempting to storm out of the auditorium, to run away and never come back - that’ll show them! If they’re going to jerk him around like that, then they don’t deserve to have him at all._

_Strangely enough, it’s the thought of Vegard that keeps him still. If he ran, Vegard would make fun of him, and he’d never live it down._

_No, worse. Vegard would be_ disappointed _._

_The rest of the meeting passes by in a blur as he tries to calm down and think of what to do next. He knows it’s still good. He’s still the only ninth-grader to make it into the production, even if he is only the chorus. It’s a good place to start, right?_

_He’s almost reconciled himself to that fact by the time the meeting is over. Even Vegard had to start in the chorus, and he’d been in Grade 11!He’s almost feeling happy about it, when the teacher calls him back from leaving._

_Bård waits nervously, feeling like a little child again, but feeling his hopes rise. Maybe this is the part where the teacher tells him there was a mistake, and he’s supposed to be the lead after all!_

_“I know you must be disappointed,” the teacher begins. He leans on the desk, and takes a friendly, conversational tone. “I bet you’re wondering why you didn’t get the lead role.”_

_“Maybe,” Bård says, trying to play it cool even as warning bells start going off in his head. “I thought I had a chance.”_

_“Well…here’s the thing.” The teacher shifts his weight again. “You’re a good actor, Bård. You’ve got a natural talent for it.”_

_“But…?” There was no mistaking the teacher’s tone._

_“But you’ve got some…presentation issues.”_

_“What?”_

_“You’re chubby.”_

_“No I’m not!”_

_“Yes, you are. And I’m going to be honest. It’s what kept you from getting that lead role. I was all set to give it to you. But…you’re going to have to work on some things. Do you understand?”_

_Bård looks down at himself, feeling like he’s very far away. He doesn’t recognize himself anymore._

“All ready?”

Vegard’s voice breaks through his thoughts, and tears his gaze away from the mirror. He hadn’t meant to look.

He still doesn’t recognize his own body at times, but at least now, the chubbiness that kept him out of the spotlight for so long is gone. He can’t call himself thin, not exactly - and especially not after these last few months, where he’d been doing nothing at all to control it - but it’s…better than it was in highschool, at least.

“I’m ready,” Bård lies. 

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Vegard tries as they make the walk from the dressing rooms to the stage. 

Bård merely grunts an acknowledgment. Vegard doesn’t really expect a response; he just needs to talk things out and say the same thing over and over again, even if it is completely wrong. 

They can smell the greasy hamburgers before they even step onto the soundstage. Bård swallows deeply to keep from gagging right there, and even Vegard looks disgusted. He’d been hoping - and expecting - that they’d at least get good quality burgers, but it seemed that the director had chosen to go with the lowest-quality fast food burgers they could get away with. 

Vegard gives him one last glance somewhere between concern and pity, and then they have to take their seats and get started. Bård nods a greeting to David on the other side of the desk, then sits down heavily and stares at the desk in front of him, trying to block out the camera and the crew and the entire auditorium.

 _At least it isn’t full_ , he reminds himself. _At least there’s no audience for this._

The director calls instructions to the crew, and then they start. The band, who Bård hadn’t even noticed, strike up the theme tune. He unwraps the burger, forcing his hands not to shake, and jams it into his mouth. 

The director waves his hands to stop. Bård swallows the mouthful of crappy burger, and stares so hard at the desk he’s half worried he’ll burn a hole in it.

“That was good - let’s try it one more time.”

~~~

They end up doing thirteen takes. Vegard knows this because he counts every single one. Trond is a great director but a perfectionist, and he sometimes forgets that not everyone is as meticulous as he is.

By the fourth or fifth take, even Vegard is starting to feel a little ill from the smell of the greasy food, ad by the thirteenth, he knows that if they don’t wrap it up _now_ there’s going to be trouble. Bård is pale and refusing to look anywhere else than down at his hands. Vegard feels his own stomach twisting anxiously in response. 

“That’s enough,” he calls, when Trond calls cut again. “I don’t think we can do anymore.”

Trond purses his lips. “You might be right,” he concedes, looking at his watch. “Sorry, everyone. Didn’t realize how long this was taking. Thanks for coming, see you on Monday.”

Vegard has to smile at the audible sighs of relief that come from around the studio. He waves goodbye to the band, mutters a quick goodbye to David, then turns his attention to Bård, who looks like he hasn’t even heard the news.

“Bård?” he tries. “Come on. Time to go home.” 

When his little brother doesn’t answer, he puts a hand under his arm. “Come on. It’s over, we have to go now.”

Bård looks up. “We’re done?”

“Yup. Let’s go.”

Bård is silent as Vegard leads him out of the studio to the parking lot and there a distant-ness in his eyes that’s frightening. Vegard doesn’t know if he should try to make conversation and keep his mind off it, or just be quiet lest he make things worse

( _He has a good history of doing that)_

So in the end he puts the radio on softly and keeps silent until they get to Bård’s house. 

It doesn’t even have to be said. Vegard turns off the car and gets out, following quickly behind Bård, who already has his key out and is unlocking the door. His entire body radiates tension.

Bård pauses in the entryway after getting the door open at last, just breathing and trying to collect himself, and it gives Vegard hope that maybe things won’t be that bad. He stays just in the corner of Bård’s vision, reassuring him that he’s still there, but trying not to make any sudden movements. He can’t even begin to guess what might be going on inside Bård’s head right now. 

Bård swallows heavily. He doesn’t look behind him; he doesn’t need to to find Vegard and grab his hand tightly and lead him toward the bathroom in the hall.

~~~

Bård deliberately takes longer in the bathroom than even he really needs, because he’s struck with the vain hope that if he takes too long, Vegard will just get fed up and leave. 

He knows there’s no chance at all of that happening, but he tries it all the same. Forty-five minutes later, he opens the door and tentatively peers out into the living room, his heart falling. 

Vegard is still sitting on the couch, hunched over, eyes closed, fingers pressed over his ears. He jumps, then sits back looking embarrassed when Bård lightly touches his shoulder. Without saying a word, Bård sits down on the couch next to him, then flops over and puts his head in his lap. Vegard strokes his hair and they sit like that for a long time.

“I’m sorry,” Bård says at last.

“For what?”

“You know for what.” _Stop it_ , he wants to yell. _Stop pretending._

“It’s not your fault.” Vegard’s voice is heavy. “You’ll get through, you always do.”

“Yeah.” 

They fall silent again. 

“You know,” Vegard tries again sometime later. His voice is hesitant. “Maybe this would be a good time to talk to some—“

“ _No_.” Bård says firmly, his tone clear: do not bring it up again.

“Okay,” Vegard sighs, sounding defeated. 

“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” Bård says, but there’s no anger in his voice now, just weariness. He stands up. “You can lock when you leave.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll call you in a few days.”

Vegard nods. “Sure.”

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

Bård pauses in the doorway to his bedroom and looks back. “And…thanks. I guess. I’m sorry.”

Vegard doesn’t know what to say that won’t be condescending or an outright lie, so he just nods in acknowledgement and waits until he’s sure Bård’s gone to bed before he gets up and quietly leaves, locking the door behind him.

 


	3. Chapter 3

After leaving Bård’s house, Vegard just drives. He doesn’t know where he’s going, but it doesn’t matter. As long as it’s away, and it’s somewhere where he doesn’t have to talk to anyone for awhile. 

He’s getting low on gas when he finally stops at a rest stop outside the city. It’s abandoned this late at night, except for the station attendant, but Vegard parks far enough away that he won’t be noticed. 

His hands are shaking. No matter how hard he grips the steering wheel, they won’t stop, and his breath feels tight and shallow in his chest. The car is too close and hot suddenly and he throws open the door and stumbles out, leaning on the hood to try to regain some sense of balance.

Everything is falling apart. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. It wasn’t supposed to be this _hard._ It was going to be _hard,_ of course, he knows that, but this…this might ruin everything. The last thing he wants to do right now is upset Bård even further, but at the same time, it affects him too, more than he knows. 

They have to get Arne out of the way and get the producers off their backs before the whole show is ruined. _Not just the show_ , he thinks grimly. _Our lives. His life._ But fuck if he knows how to do it.

“FUCK!” He slams his fists down on the hood of the car, again and again. The metal flexed under his hands and he goes to kicking at the tires and the running boards. “Fuck this! Fuck me! Goddammit…”

Finally exhausted, Vegard sinks back down into the driver’s seat and rests his forehead on the steering wheel. 

 _Your fault_ , the insidious voice at the back of his mind whispers. _This is all your fault._

“I know,” he whispers back.

 _Not your fault,_ tries the other half of his mind. _You couldn’t have known back then. No one did._  

He quashes that thought ruthlessly.

His chest is tight and his breathing is too fast. There’s a burning in his eyes and he blinks rapidly, trying to get rid of it before the tears wash his lenses out. That’s probably the worst thing that could happen, to lose his lenses and be unable to drive and be stranded out here - or worse, have to call Bård to come and get him.

 It’s a good thing the area is deserted; if anyone caught him acting like this it would be all over the papers and then they’d have yet _another_ problem to deal with. As if things couldn’t possibly get any worse.

That thought goes through him like a wash of cold water down his spine, and smoothes out his hitchy, gulping breathing. If he loses control of himself now, he’ll lose control of the entire situation. 

The desperate pressure behind his eyes finally recedes, leaving him with a pounding headache, heavy eyelids and a stuffed nose. The urge to break down is still there, though, so he looks around for something to take his mind off it.

The gas station sign catches his eye, reminding him that he’s almost out of gas. Even though his hands still feel shaky, he starts the car and drives over to the pumps, gets out, and fills up the tank. The completely normal, familiar, routine action works wonders to calm him down and by the time the tank is full, he’s stopped shaking, and his eyes aren’t red anymore.

The attendant barely even looks up as Vegard pays, which further reassures him that he’s back to normal. Simply being in the presence of another person, even one to whom he had no connection, is enough to regain the sense of stability he so desperately needs, and he can feel the mask slipping into place with relief.

For a minute, Vegard considers buying something else just to keep the transaction going a few minutes more, but then dismisses it with a mental shake of his head. Pathetic. He finishes paying and leaves with a cheerful greeting to the attendant.

Back in his car, away from the safety of other people, Vegard sits back in the driver’s seat and closes his eyes. The need to do something, go somewhere, just be around people is intense, but he can’t think of where to go. The obvious choice of a bar or club flashes through his mine, and he recoils almost physically. Drinking is _not_ the answer.

The door of the station opens and the attendant comes out. Vegard realizes he’s been sitting in his car in front of the pump for almost five minutes, doing nothing. Hurriedly he starts the car and waves to the attendant before driving off, a flush of shame burning in his cheeks. Hopefully the guy didn’t recognize him, or that might end up in the gossip columns as well.

His house is dark, cold, and unwelcoming. Not even bothering to turn on a light, Vegard sits down heavily on the couch and pulls out his computer. It’s futile to try to sleep. Might as well get some work done.

~~~

Two days pass before he gets a text from Bard that simply says ‘ _okay_ ’, which is one day less than it usually takes, so Vegard chooses to take that as a good sign.

Maybe he’s being a little too hopeful, but he shows up that night on Bård’s doorstep with two plastic bags that smell heavenly. Bård opens the door with a skeptical look.

“I brought dinner,” Vegard announces, breezing past him to the table in the kitchen. “Get some plates out.”

It’s better not to ask Bård how he’s doing, but Vegard can see, with a well-honed sense, his state of health. He looks surprisingly well for someone in his position, which makes him think that maybe Bård was right, maybe it won’t be so bad this time. Then again, he’d just been on his own for two days, and he never did it when he was alone, so…

Bård obediently gets plates down from the cupboard and sets them on the table, but doesn’t sit down.

“Thanks but…I’m not hungry,” he says.

“When was the last time you ate something?” It’s as risk to ask that, but Vegard is willing to take it; Bård usually doesn’t have a problem with _him_ asking that.

“I dunno. This morning maybe. It was today.” He turns away and slinks into the other room.

Vegard unpacks the bags. Sushi for Bård, Indian for himself. He arranges the food on the plate and sits down. Bård sneaks a look over his shoulder.

“You sure?” Vegard asks.

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Okay,” Vegard gives a big, theatrical shrug. “That’s okay. I’ll just have to eat this sushi by myself. Oh, what’s this? Rainbow roll? _Yum!_ It was _so good!_ I’m _so glad_ I get to eat this all!”

Bård peeks around the corner again, a sheepish smile on his face. “You’re such a dork,” he says, coming back into the kitchen. He sits down in front of the place set for him and accepts a pair ofr chopsticks, breaking them apart and rubbing them together for a maybe a bit longer than he has to.

For a while they eat in silence. Vegard is careful to look elsewhere, only glancing at Bård for half a second when Bård isn’t looking. 

“What’s going on?” Bård asks at last, around a mouthful of California roll.

“What do you mean?” Vegard is immediately on guard, although he can’t pinpoint why.

“At the office.” Bård rolls his eyes. “Anything new?”

“Ah, no, not really, just the same old thing. Waiting for some filming permits to come through, mostly.”

“Hmmm. I’ll come in tomorrow, see if I can work my charm on them.”

That makes Vegard smile. “If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“I know.” He’s quiet again, then: “you look tired.”

“I’m fine,” Vegard says, maybe a little too quickly.

“Are you really?”

“Of course. One of us has to be, right?”

He looks down at his food, but can sense Bård’s eyes on him.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Vegard pauses. There are two options in front of him now: he can tell Bård the truth: about all his misgivings and fears and apprehensions, or he can insult him and pretend he still has no idea what he’s talking about.

“Vegard, please,” Bård tries again. “If it’s about the show, then I have the right to know.”

“And if it isn’t about the show?” He clenches his fist under the table. That didn’t come out the way he meant it to.

“Well, that’s up to you, I guess. What have you got to lose by telling me?”

 _Everything. You’re fragile as it is._ But Bård would murder him if he said _that_ out loud, so he just looks away, gathering up his courage.

“How many ideas have we had that have been scrapped over the past year?” he starts.

Bård frowns, trying to recall. “I’m not sure exactly - 20? 30?”

“Thirty-seven,” Vegard anwers flatly. “Thirty-seven ideas for sketches and skits and even _guests_ that have been shot down. Thirty-seven. On our own show.”

Bård shifts uncomfortably. “Well…maybe some of them weren’t good,” he tries, but there’s no real conviction in his voice. The sketches were good, and there was no reason they should have been thrown out. They never threw out so many, not in all the years they’d been in the business.

“The hamburger thing was crap. Not just because of…you know. It was stupid and it didn’t make any sense.”

“That was the point, though.” 

Vegard quirks his eyebrow, as if asking him _are you actually defending it?_ Bård shrugs.

“I think I know where you’re going with this,” Bård says.

Of course he does. They’ve been in sync practically since birth. 

“I feel like we’re losing control!” Vegard bursts out. “Ever since Arne began to sit in on writing sessions, we’ve been pushed more and more toward what he wants, which is what the production company wants, which isn’t always what’s best for us!”

Rather than looking alarmed or upset, Bård is nodding thoughtfully, which only makes Vegard feel worse. For so long he was trying to put it down to his own paranoia and sensitivity, but if Bård is seeing it too.

“It’s like the early days,” he finishes, then bites his lip, because bringing up the early days of their career, when Bård is like this, is not something he ever wanted to do.

Bård can’t hide the split-second wince, but covers it smoothly. “Arne has to go.”

“We’re not killing him, Bård.”

Bård snickers, and Vegard sighs in relief. 

“I don’t suppose you have any better idea then?”

Vegard shakes his head, hot shame pooling in his chest. Isn’t that just typical? He can see the problem, but ask him to come up with a solution, and he’s useless. It falls on Bård, always, to try to dig them out of the mess they’ve gotten into. 

( _No wonder he’s broken)_

Vegard shakes his head to clear it, eyes wide with shock at his own thought.

“What?” Bård asks worriedly.

“N-nothing,” he says, resolving to keep his mouth shut lest something like that pop out for real. “Just…just thinking.”

“Okay…” Bård gets up, clearing up the empty take-out containers and throwing them in the trash. Behind him, Vegard hears him putting the pot on for tea. 

“Is it Arne?” Bård asks. “Or is it the production company itself?” 

That’s a good question. While Vegard is still thinking it over, Bård continues. “And is it the company, or the network that’s giving us the most trouble?”

“Well, they’re in TVNorge’s pocket, aren’t they,” Vegard answers. He gratefully takes the steaming cup from his brother, sipping at it to buy more time before he has to answer again.

“Right but I mean, do we know _for sure_ that it’s TVN that’s limiting us?”

“We don’t know anything for sure.” He grimaces; the tea is too hot.

“So that’s the first step.” Bård is sitting up straight at the table, blue eyes bright. “We need to find out how much involvement there is between the network, the producers, and us. We can move on from there.”

“Move on to what?” Vegard asks, though he has a vague feeling like he knows.

“Don’t worry about that yet. That can come later.”

“Bård - “

“Just trust me on this, okay? Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, it’s just - if you’re going where I think you’re going with this, it could be _very bad_. Career-endingly bad.”

“But if it isn’t…” Bård lets the sentence hang in the air.

Vegard slowly stirs sweetener into his tea. He hasn’t seen Bård this excited in a long time, and this distraction is, truthfully, the best thing for him right now. But on the other hand…one misstep and they’ll be worse off than when they started.

“It isn’t like leaving a manager,” he says at last. “If we screw this up, there’s nothing left. No one will be waiting to scoop us up. No one.”

“That’s why we can’t screw this up.”

Vegard closes his eyes and prays for patience. “Just - don’t do anything right now, okay? Let’s take a few days and think this over. Maybe there’s another way.”

Bård looks at him, blue eyes boring into his soul. They both know how this is going to end.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Bård comes into the office the next day, and Vegard isn’t sure how he feels about that. On the one hand, the fact that his little brother is feeling well enough to be there so soon is a good sign. On the other, tension levels are rocketing up, everything and everyone becoming more strained by the hour, and he wonders if it’s really the best place for Bård to be. It’s a good thing their offices are side-by-side and share full length windows; he thinks he’d go crazy if he couldn’t steal a look at his brother every ten minutes. Maybe it’s a little obsessive, but it gives him a strange, sick feeling of comfort. Like in this mess, there’s something at least he can control

( _You_ can’t _control it, that’s the problem)_

After the fifth time that Bård’s caught him peering through the window, Vegard forces himself to do something else inside. Such as preparing for the upcoming meeting with Arne. It’s hard to believe, but the season is going to be ending soon, and it’s time to really pull out all the stops and end with a bang.

(He doesn’t think about the fact that it could be their _careers_ they’re ending with a bang as well). 

But the computer screen in front of him sits stubbornly blank, no matter how many times he tries to start writing. He’s not the fastest writer in the world under normal circumstances, but usually he can come up with _something_. Or he could. Used to be able to. 

There was a time when thinking of writing didn’t just make him feel tired and hopeless.

He runs his hand through his hair and closes his eyes, thinking things over. When had it all changed? He knows there had to have been a time when he felt _good_ about what they did, but try as he might, he can’t remember when. Not in the beginning, when they had no creative control. Maybe just after, when they finally had a taste of freedom, with _Norges Herligste_ and O-FAG and all that, and of course, the third stage show. 

 _Yeah,_ he thinks, a small smile coming to his face. _Those were good times._

Then again, he remembers, the smile dropping from his lips, that had been when Bård had started to get really sick. Looking back, he can’t figure out how _no one_ knew anything was going on, when his brother had practically been skeletal. He can’t figure out why _he_ hadn’t known anything either, not until it was too late. As always, the memory fills him with a rush of shame and guilt.

“Okay?”

Bård’s soft voice breaks him out of his reverie. His head hurts and he realizes he was fisting his hands in his hair, inadvertently pulling it.

“Fine,” he answers, smoothing back the curls and cocking an eyebrow at Bård. “Just writing.”

“Got anything usable?”

“Pfft. No. Have you?”

Bård shrugs uncomfortably, obviously not expecting Vegard to have that reaction. “A few things.”

“What are you willing to bet Arne will shoot them down?”

“Almost certainly. But you can’t just give up, Vegard.”

Vegard shifts and looks away.

“You can’t just give up,” Bård repeats, softer now. 

“I’m not.” _I’m just tired._

“I need you. If we’re ever going to do anything, we have to stand together.”

Vegard looks up at him from under his lashes, wordlessly asking him if he’s serious. They’ve stood together for 10 years, does Bård really think he’d abandon him now? He swallows and wonders what he’s done to give that impression.

( _Why is it always my fault?)_

 _“_ Well what have you got then?” he asks, trying to keep the irritability out of his voice. Bård hands him the papers. 

He has to admit, there are some pretty funny ideas here, even if they are a little all over the place. He nods. “This looks good, actually.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not, I…” Vegard falters. “I don’t know. Sorry.”

Bård peers at him and opens his mouth as though he wants to say something but thinks better of it. “Just try to have _something_ , okay? Take a look at the guest list so far, maybe that’ll help.”

“Hm.” Vegard nods and fights down the rising irritation. He just wants Bård out of there, and he can’t explain why, and it’s not fair because his brother is just trying to help him, _Vegard_ is the one who’s in danger of fucking up. That’s how they work: when the other is about to fall, they hold each other up.

“I’ll let you get back to it, then,” Bård says, as though he can sense his brother’s suddenly low mood. (But that’s impossible, Vegard tells himself, he’s hiding it well, and besides, he isn’t in a bad mood, of course not, he has no reason to be in a bad mood.)

“Okay!” He chirps, forcing himself to sound more cheerful. It works, Bård goes back into his own office and sits back down at the computer, and doesn’t look at him again until it’s time for the meeting.

~~~

When Bård enters the room for the writer’s meeting, he saw Arne and Hanne already sitting together; the production rep looking over her notes and laughing. That doesn’t bode well, but he forces himself to keep his hopes up, despite the anxious churning in his chest. Vegard’s words keep going around in his mind - _we’re losing control, we’re losing control_ , and he knows his brother is right. But he has to keep it together, if only for Vegard’s sake. His brother has enough to deal with, without having to worry about Bård as well.

 _He’ll always worry about you,_ he thinks, and it brings a small measure of comfort. If Vegard is keeping an eye on him, then he can relax. Deep down he knows it’s unfair, but he can’t help it. A writer’s meeting where he’s going to be continually shot down is not the sort of thing he wanted to deal with on his first day back, but it’s not like he can really avoid it, not without having to explain why, and that makes him shudder physically.

“You okay?” Vegard mouths. Bård nods. Vegard raises his eyebrow and Bård is sure he’s going to get the third degree later, but for right now, he’s content to just smile and shrug and hope that’ll be enough.

It is. The meeting begins as usual, with a breakdown of the last few episodes and all the sketches and segments that are set in stone. Truls, the finance officer, reports on the known costs so far, and the budget they have remaining, and Anna, the costume and props manager, lays out what she’s still going to need. 

That’s the easy part, even if they are coming close to the budget. Arne looks pleased at their progress. It really looks as if the last half of the season is going to come along with no hitches.

At least, until they get to the writing part. Bård can feel Vegard getting tenser and tenser as they get close to the writing session, and he wishes his brother would just relax, because his attitude is starting to affect Bård, and it really isn’t helping at all.

They take a short break before breaking out the storyboards and whiteboards that split up the next episodes into manageable chunks. Arne stands up, stretching, and declares that he’s starving and he’s going to order pizza.

Vegard tries not to look at Bård, who suddenly seems to have taken a great interest in looking at his feet. He hopes for a second that no one else will agree, but there are several enthusiastic answers from everyone else, and pretty soon a good discussion of where to get the pizza and what to put on it is ensuing.

If it were any other time, he wouldn’t be so worried. After all, he could just not eat it, and say that he felt sick or had already eaten or any number of excuses that he could come up with on the spot because he’s _Bård_ , his skills at improv are legendary. But now…who knows. Who can tell how he’ll respond. Probably not well. 

The tension mounts as the order is placed and the waiting begins. No one else can sense it of course, but to Vegard it might as well be as flashing neon light over his brother’s head. He needs to distract him somehow.

“Now that that’s settled, let’s get back to work,” he says, trying to draw everyone back to the table. “We still need a few more sketches for the last three programs, and we should figure out the best dates for filming the music video. I guess we’ll have to wait for it to snow.”

“Or fake snow,” Hanne suggests.

Vegard grimaces. “I’m not sure I want to be inside a soundstage in heavy winter clothing,” he says, looking over at Bård, who doesn’t appear to have heard him. 

“You may not have a choice,” Arne says, looking at his phone. “The costs for shooting outside are pretty high. There’s location fees, wages, not to mention specialized equipment in case of bad weather…I recommend shooting indoors.”

He’s right, and Vegard knows it, and that’s what rankles so much. “Well, we’ll…make a decision closer to the time,” he offers half-heartedly, making a mental note to book a soundstage as soon as possible. 

Arne sits back looking satisfied. He’s won. 

~~~

The pizza comes after only 28 minutes, which is exciting for everyone else but Bård. Truthfully, he wishes it had never come, but that’s not an option, so the only thing he can do is deal with it. Right. Easy.

He deliberately doesn’t look at Vegard. It’s comforting to rely on his older brother for distraction, but the situation is taking its toll on him too, and he feels even more guilty for heaping it on him. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to be burdened down with Bård’s problems. They’re not his fault. 

Arne lays the boxes on the conference table with a flourish. “Courtesy of TVNorge,” he says magnanimously. “Plenty for everyone. Eat up.”

_“Eat up,” Ole says, motioning to the table in front of them. It’s loaded down with more food than is necessary or even decent, Bård thinks. There’s only a few people at this meeting. Ole, their new manager. The people from the theatre and the company backing their show. Vegard. Himself._

_He takes a small plate and nibbles slowly. The meeting is to discuss their first stage show, the first of their brand-new career that they’d been scooped up into. He has no idea what to expect, but he’s hopeful anyway. Vegard has a folder full of scripts and ideas for sketches, that they’re sure Peter will love. After all, he got them out of doing the stupid boyband shit, clearly he knows what’s better for them._

_The other execs come in a short time later. Bård has barely finished half of his food, but he’s bid to take more, and he does, lest the others think he’s rude. Vegard is happily tucking in. Of course he does. He’s never had anything to worry about._

_The talk goes around the table for a little while, standard business small talk, and Bård tunes them out. He pushes the food around on his plate, hoping that by rearranging it, it’ll look like he’s eaten some. He tries to look over at Vegard, but his older brother is more concentrated on actually eating, and occaisonally looking down at the folder in his lap, waiting for the right moment to bring it up._

_That moment comes after the main meal is finished. Bård, to his own surprise, has managed to eat most of it, through sheer willpower. Dessert is served, and then things start to get moving._

_“I think we should start talking about your first show,” Ole says thoughtfully. “I’d like to have it premier in about six months - that’s not too short a time, is it?”_

_Bård shakes his head, and Vegard brings out their folder._

_“We’ve made some ideas already,” he says eagerly. “We’ve got about six sketches here, and we can come up with more if you need us to. I think you’ll like them, we —“_

_But Ole was shaking his head. “I’m sure those are good ideas,” he says patronizingly, “but that’s not really what I’m looking for. I expect the talent working for me to follow what I want. After all, that’s why I’m the manager.”_

_The words hit Bård like a punch to the gut. Vegard is speechless._

_“But we —“_

_“Some day,”Ole says. “But right now, what I want to do is focus on your musical talents. I’m thinking a cabaret type show would fit you the best - something that can show off your range of abilities. You’d like that, right?”_

No _, Bård thinks, but he finds himself nodding. It’s this or nothing._

_The rest of the conversation passes by in a blur. They’re not even included; just Ole and the theatre execs making plans and deals. He tries to look at Vegard, but his brother won’t look back. There’s a weird sort of buzzing feeling in his limbs and he needs to move. Almost of their own volition, his hands pick up the fork and spoon and dissect the dessert. Before he knows it, he’s eaten everything on his plate and has to stop himself from reaching for more._

_The meeting winds down. The execs shake hands with Ole and leave, and then it’s just the three of them left._

_“So…we won’t be doing any of our own material,” Vegard says slowly, a frown creasing his face._

_“No,” Ole says simply._

_“Why not?”_

_“We’ve been through this,” Ole sighs. “The simple fact is, I’ve been in this business a long time. You haven’t. I know what sells best. You don’t. Maybe one day, if you listen to me, you’ll be able to do some things on your own. But those days are a long way off, and until then, you’re just going to have to listen to me. It’s just the way it is.”_

_Vegard looks like he wants to say something else, but Ole stands up, cutting him off._

_“I think that’s enough for today. Come by the studio tomorrow, and we’ll get started on planning things out.”_

_“But —“_

_“Vegard.” Ole’s voice is firm. “Listen to me. You’re in a good situation right now. Not many people get to be in your place. Think of all your classmates who were also in the plays with you. They aren’t here. Only you and Bård. But if you aren’t going to work with me, then I’m going to have to let you go. Do you want that? If I let you go, then I’ll let your brother go too. Do you want to do that to him? After all, he was the one who got you here. He didn’t have to tell me about you. Do you want to ruin his life too?”_

_Vegard’s face had gotten whiter and whiter during Ole’s little speech, and he flashes Bård a desperate, guilty look, as if reassuring him that he would never do that to him._

_“N-no,” he stammers, looking down at the ground. “I’ll listen.”_

_“Good. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”_

_Vegard nods and leaves the room without looking back. Bård goes to follow him, but Ole grabs his arm and holds him in place. Instinctively he feels himself shrinking away._

_“I want you to do something for me,” Ole says. “I want you to take charge. I need you to reign in your brother for me, okay? Can you do that? Because I am serious, Bård - I will not tolerate him making trouble. I expect my talent to do as I say.”_

_“I…I guess,” Bård stuttered, caught between wanting to stick up for his brother and wondering why Vegard just couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut sometimes._

_“Good.” Ole smiles, and Bård can smell the onions on his breath. “You’re a good boy, Bård. I knew it from the moment I saw you up on stage. You stood out, like I’ve never seen before.” His hand slides down Bård’s arm and he resists the impulse to pull away. “You’re my shining star.”_

_“Th—thanks,” he mumbles. Ole’s hand slides to his waist._

_“You’re beautiful. Don’t ever forget that.” The hand on his waist pinches - hard. “But you’re all skin and bones. We’ll have to fatten you up before the show. No one wants to see a skeleton. Right?”_

_Bård doesn’t know what to say but Ole seems to be expecting some kind of answer so he nods dumbly._

_“Seriously,” he winks. “You’re going to go far. With or without your brother.”_

_“I…okay. Thanks.” The little room is suddenly stifling. The hand on his waist is heavy. He pushes open the door._

_“I’ll see you later,” he says, slipping out of Ole’s grasp. “See you tomorrow.” He doesn’t look back._

_~~~_

“I’m sorry.” 

Bård smiles without humour and throws himself down on the couch in Vegard’s office.

“I hate him,” he says. “I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.”

“I know.”

“Why is he still here? Why are we still listening to him? This is _our_ show!”

“Because he’s the one holding the purse strings, and he’s the one who has the ear of the network officials. Without those two elements, there is no show.”

“We’re trapped.” 

Vegard sat back in his chair, unwilling to agree, but unable to disagree. 

“I…” Bård looks away, ashamed. “I think I…I need you.” 

 _Now?_ He wants to ask, but he knows the answer. He suggested the deal, it would be cruel to make him wait. “All right then,” he sighs, standing up. “You want to go home?”

Bård shakes his head. “No. Too far.”

“Then go where you need to, I’ll follow you.”

“Thanks.” It’s barely more than a sigh. He puts his head down, avoiding anyone’s eyes, and leads the way through the office and to the elevators. Vegard nods at the receptionist, as if saying that he’d be back, but truthfully he doesn’t know if that’s the case.

Bård leads them to a little used bathroom on the second floor, away from any prying eyes. Vegard hesitates for only a second outside the door, then follows him in, clenching his fists.

The whole thing is over in under 15 minutes. Bård is ruthlessly efficient, even limited to the manual methods as spelled out in the deal. Vegard tries to look anywhere but the stall, and think about anything else than what’s happening. It still feels surreal. Eight years, and it still doesn’t feel real.

Bård flushes once, bracing himself on the wall, then comes out. He washes his hands, then cups them and drinks from the faucet.

Vegard shuffles awkwardly, feeling the need to ask something dumb like “feeling better?” but restraining himself.

Bård leans on the counter, shutting his eyes for a minute, then pulls away, standing aimlessly, looking like a lost child.

“Come here,” Vegard says softly, and pulls him into his arms. He can’t take seeing him like this anymore. 

“I’m sorry,” Bård whispers. He snakes his arms around his brother’s waist and presses his face into his chest. Then all at once, it’s like the dam breaks, and he’s crying uncontrollably, shoulders shaking, body tense.

Vegard sinks down the wall so he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, and just holds him tight, every so often making a soothing noise or stroking his hair. Eventually the storm passes and Bård just sits there, limp, in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats again.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Then who’s fault is it?”

“No one’s.”

“No, not no one’s,” Bård sighs, but won’t elaborate. “Hell of a first day back.”

“Bad timing.”

His breathing is getting hitchy and too-fast, like he’s about to have a panic attack. “I hate him,” Bård says again, voice shaking. “I hate him. He’s just like all the rest. Trying to control us. We’re just tools for him. To make him more money. Why are we always _tools_ for someone _else?_ ”

“Because…because…” Vegard falters.

“I hate it!” The attack is ramping up. Vegard holds him tighter. “I wish I’d never been discovered. I wish I’d never met Ole, or anyone. I wish I’d never even been in a single play.”

His voice is small when he admits, “then I’d be normal.” 

“You can be…normal,” Vegard says, a rush of fierce protectiveness running through him. “You are normal.”

“No,” Bård sighs, shaking his head. “I’m tired, Vegard. I’m tired of everything. I’m tired of this.”

“You can get…”

“ _No._ I mean…I want to quit.”

“IKMY?”

He laughs without humour. “Yeah, maybe. Maybe I just want to quit the whole business. Maybe I just want to quit life.”

“ _Don’t say shit like that!”_ It comes out as a growl, more forceful than he intends it, but his heart is in his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” Bård whispers again. “I don’t mean it. I just…I want to get out of this.”

Vegard strokes his hair. _What are we doing?_ He thinks. _We’re sitting in on the floor of a public bathroom, my little brother made himself puke, because we might have our own TV show, but we have no control over it._ _Where do we go from here?_

The answer is there, burning bright in his mind.

“I’m going to ask for a meeting with the network,” he says slowly. Bård looks up at him. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. But I’m going to find out just how much control the production company has over us, and how we can take back that control.”

“I thought you wanted to wait.”

Vegard just holds him tight. “I think it’s gone past the point of waiting.”

“It’s too hard,” he sighs. “It’s too much. Why even bother.”

“The other night, you were all for it,” Vegard points out, desperately trying to hold on to the spark that Bård had shown.

“That was the other night. This is now.”

“Look…why don’t you take a few more days off. We’ll be fine.”

“Vegard, no…I can’t. We’re so busy…”

“I’d rather you were at home than here, even if it means more work. You can’t avoid Arne when you’re here, and if every encounter is going to end like this, well…”

“I’m sorry,” Bård says yet again. 

“You’re going to get through this,” Vegard says. 

“Yeah,” Bård whispers. “But at what cost?”

Vegard shivers, and doesn’t answer. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

There’s a veritable mountain of papers on Vegard’s desk the next morning when he walks in. Not surprising, but no less overwhelming either. He recognizes most of the new mess as things that were lifted straight from Bård’s desk, that have now been dumped on his. Not that he minds, of course. Vaguely, he wonders who put it there. Maybe he did, before taking Bård home. He can’t remember.

He sits down and turns on the computer, sifting through the top pile of papers, seeing if anything can be delegated to someone else. The answer is no, of course - everyone is maxed out in terms of workload, adding anything else will just inspire mutiny or worse. Nothing else to do but suck it up and put in a little (more) overtime. 

The office is empty for now, but it won’t be for long, and then he’ll have to deal with endless questions about where Bård is, and have to come up with a plausible excuse. 

At least Bård’s left his writing here, and as usual, it’s pretty good. It’s one less thing to worry about, just finish up and polish before presenting them. There was a time he might have felt mild guilt about presenting Bård’s ideas for him, but the time for that’s long past, and besides, he can barely remember a time when their ideas weren’t basically intertwined anyway.

“Where’s Bård?” The first question comes at 10:10 am, which he thinks is a little presumptuous, because even on a good day Bård would never be in this early. He just shrugs and waits for the person to walk on, and continues trying to sign off on budget reports.

“Have you seen Bård anywhere?” The next one comes at 10:45 am, which, Vegard thinks, is a more reasonable time. Again, he shrugs. The schedules for filming are more important than making small talk.

“Haven’t seen him today,” he answers, because it isn’t a lie. 

By noon, the question changes to, “Is Bård gonna be in today?”

“Nope,” Vegard answers, because it’s easier than lying, and he can put the right tone in his voice that discourages any follow-up questions. He’s only halfway through the cost analysis of filming inside vs outside, and it’s proving to be more complicated than he’d expected. No matter which way he breaks it down, Arne is right, and it is cheaper to film inside on a soundstage than try to wait for the right kind of weather outside, and hope that everyone is available right at that moment. 

And then there’s the stack of scripts waiting for him to look over and sign off on; the final versions that would be used in the show so he especially can’t screw that up. He knows there were going to be at least two or three that he’ll have to send back for revisions, and that’s the worst part, because it eats up so much _time._ Both in looking through them for the problem areas, and waiting for them to be corrected and sent back. Not to mention the resentment and insult on the faces of the writers of the scripts he’d rejected. And with the number of restrictions he has for scripts…well it was a wonder they have any writers left at all. Every week he’s more and more certain that there will be a pile of resignations on his desk the day after filming. He usually just lets Bård handle that part. Bård has a way of talking to people that makes it feel like the suggested revisions were their idea in the first place.

By 11:00 he has a pounding headache and a cup of coffee on his desk, despite how much he hates it. The caffeine rush is more important than the faint gagging sensation every time he takes a sip. 

“Where’s your brother?” The voice cuts through his concentration and makes him cringe. 

Vegard looks up. Arne is standing in the doorway. He shrugs. “At home.”

“He just decided not to come in today?”

He clenches his hands under the table so he won’t snap and wring the producer’s neck. “He’s sick.”

“He looked fine yesterday.”

Vegard can’t tell if Arne is just chatting, or truly doesn’t believe him. “Food poisoning,” he says, falling back on the familiar excuse. “Bad fish.” 

“Ah. That’s unfortunate.” 

“Yeah.”

“Will he be here tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.” _Don’t count on it._

“Well I hope he feels better soon.” Arne moves on down the hall, presumably to pester Calle or, more likely, visit Hanne again. Vegard unclenches his fists, wincing at the half-moon nail marks in his palms, and rests his head in his hands. Had Arne been making fun of him, or was he really oblivious? 

 _He knows,_ Vegard decides. _He must. He knows something is wrong, and he’s mocking me._  

White hot rage rushes up his limbs and he swallows it down. Calm. Control. Keep everything running smoothly. There’s a shit-ton of work to be done and he can’t afford to waste time. Everything is piling up and he’s behind already. 

He glances at the phone on his desk, wondering he has the time to call the network and request a meeting. Arne is still here, but in 20 minutes Vegard’s going to have to meet with the props and costumes department, and who knows how long that’ll take. He decides to risk it.

For only the barest fraction of a second, his hand hovers over the numbers, as raw panic courses through him. This is it. If he makes his call, there’s no turning back.

Arne’s braying laughter echoes down the hall.

Vegard dials. 

~~~

The call is quick and to the point. He needs to speak with the network representative assigned to them. He can’t talk about why, but it needs to happen as soon as possible, and for the love of God, it must be kept quiet. He expects it to be hard, and to have to wait weeks

(Weeks that they just don’t have)

But the secretary is polite and efficient, and secures him a one-hour timeslot the morning after next at 9:00. The timing isn’t exactly ideal, but he supposes he can explain his absence from the office with some story about an emergency dentist appointment, or something of that nature. 

He hangs up the phone, hands shaking. They were doing it. Quickly, he texts Bård, although he doesn’t really expect a response.

“Who were you talking to?”

Vegard jumps as Arne pokes his head in the door. Shit! How long had he been eavesdropping?

“No one. Why?” he asks, clenching his fists. Funny how that had become almost a reflexive action when dealing with Arne.

“Oh…just wondering.”

A million things run through his head. _Why are you asking, what do you know, why were you eavesdropping and where is your shame in admitting it?_ Instead, he shrugs. “Nothing to do with you,” he lies smoothly. “Did you need something?”

“Yes, actually. I wanted to know if you’d managed to book a stage to film the music video?”

“ _Shit._ I…I forgot,” he admits, and then a thought occurs to him: “Isn’t that kind of your job? As the production company, aren’t you supposed to…you know… _produce_ things?”

Arne frowns and Vegard wonders if he’s gone too far.

“Yes we are. But you’ve made it clear time and time again, that this is your project and you want full control over it.”

The words ring hollow, and the anger comes rushing back, filling him up, so hard and fast that he can’t hold it back.

“Then why do you seem to control everything?” he snarls. “You’re the one who’s always throwing out our ideas.”

“I’m not discussing this,” Arne says, backing away. “We both have work to do. I suggest you go back to it, and I’ll go back to mine.”

“Don’t _dismiss_ me -“ Vegard hisses, but it’s too late, Arne is gone. He slams his hands down on his desk, knocking the stack of freshly completed papers to the ground and scattering them.

 _Fuck. Fuck, what have I done?_ He thinks, swiping a hand across his eyes. Getting into a spat with Arne was exactly the _opposite_ of what they needed to do. Clearly Arne suspects something was up, and this will only confirm it. Who knows what he thinks is going on, but this isn’t going to help. 

His phone buzzes with an incoming text message, and he nearly throws it at the wall too. He’d forgotten about the meeting with the props department, and now he’s ten minutes late. Texting back a quick apology he makes his way downstairs.

~~~

“What do you mean, the costumes aren’t going to be ready in time?”

Kjersti twists her hands together nervously. “I’m sorry. We’ve tried everything, but we just couldn’t get the funding to come through, and then when it did, most of the budget was eaten up by the props department. With what’s left over, we can’t afford to get the material and enough people to put it together in time. You’re going to have to cut the sketch.”

“ _Don’t_ tell me what to cut, that is _my_ decision!” The words are out of him before he can stop himself. Kjersti backs away. 

“Sorry,” Vegard sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just…what _can_ you do?”

“Not much,” Kjersti replies, her tone frosty. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know what you could do with it.”

 _Don’t be like that_ , Vegard wants to plead with her. _I apologized, what more do you want?_  

 _You’re a piece of shit_ , comes the answer from the back of his mind. _All you ever do is fuck things up. She hates you. Everyone does._

“Just…do what you can, okay?” he says wearily. “We’ll…I don’t know. We’ll figure something out. Call me if anything changes.”

She nods, but the look on her face says that she doesn’t think anything is going to change.

 _You and me both,_ he thinks wryly as he goes over to the props department across the hall.

“The materials haven’t come in,” Beate says as soon as he enters the room, not even bothering with a greeting. “If you were expecting that giant game show wheel this week, it isn’t going to happen.”

“But…we ordered the parts for it like three weeks ago,” Vegard says in disbelief. Is the entire universe conspiring to keep them from making this show?

Beate shrugs. “All I know is that I came in this morning to a message on my phone from the production company saying that there’d been a mixup and the parts aren’t going to be ready for another week.”

“Of course,” Vegard says, fighting the urge to just ram his fist into the wall as hard as he can. “Should have known.”

“Should have known what?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing you can do?”

“Not really. I can send some people over to see if any lumber yards or building supply stores have any wood to spare, but it won’t be cheap.”

“You’ve already maxed out your budget,” Vegard says, thinking of the costuming department. “Just…try to do what you can. We’ll figure something out.” 

 _Amazing how much we’re saying that. We’d better start figuring some stuff out,_ he thinks on the way back upstairs to the office. He reaches into his pocket for his phone. The urge to text Bård is strong, but so is the need to protect him from this mess, at least for a few more days. Because something is becoming clear: the production company is the problem.He’ll do anything he can to shield Bård from that.

The problem turns itself over and around in his mind for the rest of the busy, but thankfully uneventful day, during the entire short drive home, and by the time he’s finished with dinner, he comes to an uneasy conclusion: if the issues with the sketches don’t clear up by the time of the meeting with the network, then he’ll tell Bård. 

_And he’ll be mad as hell that you didn’t tell him earlier._

_He is_ not _in any condition to be dealing with this shit right now._

_You can’t coddle him forever, he’s not a baby, he’s a grown man and this is his job as much as it is yours._

“I don’t know,” he sighs out loud, quite aware of how ridiculous it is to be talking to himself in an empty living room. This whole situation is ridiculous.

He’s tired, but it’s futile to try to sleep. He can’t remember the last time he’d gotten more than two or three hours at a time. It’s bad, and he knows he can’t afford to give in to this shit at a time like this, but at the same time, there’s no point in forcing it, especially when there’s so much work to be done. In a way, it’s almost like the insomnia is a _good_ thing.

 _It’s all in how you look at it,_ Vegard thinks wryly, and opens his laptop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat of a short chapter this time, but it was split in two. The second part is coming soon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry. I promise actual action is coming at some point, I know it must seem a little repetitive right now...

By the next morning, Vegard is no closer to figuring things out with the props and wardrobe departments, but he does have two-and-a-half new sketches written, although the quality is dubious. Things that seemed funny at 4am very rarely actually are that funny by the light of day.

Beate tries to corner him as soon as he comes in the office, but he shakes his head and waves her off. He can’t deal with that first thing. There’s also a message on his phone from Kjersti but again, he ignores it for now.

He’s fucking tired.

Tired of everything. Tired of all this shit. Tired of — 

 _Don’t think that way,_ he chides himself. _What would Bård say?_

_He wouldn’t say anything. He can never know. He has enough to deal with himself without taking on anyone else’s bullshit._

Still, though. It would be nice to have him here.

  _It’s even nicer to have him at home where I know he’s okay._

The thought gives him energy, and he opens his messages.

Costumes: Nothing. There just isn’t the money, and the Film Institute has nothing they can spare.

Props: It’s too prohibitively expensive. They’re going to have to wait another week for the ordered parts to come in.

And before he can even process that, Arne comes banging into his office and throws a pile of scripts down on the desk.

“What’s the matter with these?” he demands. Vegard looks up at him, feeling the pounding in his temples start up again. (Not entirely accurate, seeing as it never actually _stopped_ )

“I don’t know. What are they?” Maybe playing dumb will get the man to go away. 

Not a chance. “They’re scrips that were returned to the writers. What’s wrong with them?”

Vegard shrugs, massaging his temples. “Arne, you’ve been here for almost two years, you _know_ that revisions happen. It’s normal. Everyone knows that. It’s not personal, it’s business.” On a sudden hunch, he flips through the top three papers. They’re all from Hanne. 

“You do it too much.”

“Do you know _anything_ about this business, Arne? Like, anything at all about writing or creating, anything beyond sitting in an office and being a nuisance and hitting on women who are half your age and aren’t interested?” The last part was a mistake. Vegard cringes internally but holds his ground.

“You just think you’re so smart, don’t you,” Arne sneers. “You think you have it all figured out. You forget who is actually in charge here. That is my company, and by extension, me. I was willing to work with you, but you just fucked up. I will end you, and this show, and your career. Both you and your stupid brother!”

“Leave Bård out of this,” Vegard protests, but Arne has already swept out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

 _Oh god. Oh god, what have I done. I’ve fucked it all up._ He swallows, feeling bile rise up in his throat. Somewhere inside he knows that Arne’s threat is empty and his little cartoon-villain speech was laughable. But his nerves are shot and there’s a roaring, rushing sound in his head that makes it hard to think.

Before he knows what he’s doing, he grabs his phone and texts Bård. _I fucked up._

He honestly doesn’t expect a reply, and regrets sending it as soon as it’s gone, but almost as if he’d been waiting for it, Bård texts back. _Come here._

 _I can’t_ , he thinks, but at the same time, he knows he can’t stay. The office is stifling and every second he spends there makes it harder to breathe. Without thinking, he slams shut his computer and slides it into his bag.

The receptionist barely even looks up as he leaves, and that’s somewhat worrying; that they’re all so used to the brothers’ irregular and unpredictable hours that it’s not even a point of concern anymore. 

Bård answers the door right away and ushers him inside, worry painted on his face, which only makes Vegard feel worse. He’s not supposed to be making his brother worried right now.

“What happened?” Bård asks, clearly sensing his distress.

“I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.”

“Why?”

“Because…he just pissed me off, Bård! The things he says, he doesn’t _get_ it!”

“Arne.”

“Who else.”

“What did you do?”

“I…” It’s so stupid, in retrospect. “He…” He shrugs in defeat. “I shouldn’t have said anything…I should have just let it go. But I can’t…I’m so fucking _stupid_ , and…”

“Go sit down,” Bård says firmly, pointing to the couch. Vegard does so, and Bård goes into the kitchen, putting on the kettle. He stares at his hands, trying to sort out his thoughts and how and what to say.

“So what happened?” Bård asks

“I…said something I shouldn’t have to Arne. Made a crack about him and Hanne. He just…he pissed me off! He was questioning me about the scripts I sent back - they were all hers, but not _all_ hers, you know what I mean? I didn’t send them back just because she wrote them, it was just normal stuff, and —“

“Right, I get it,” Bård interrupts, motioning that Vegard should keep going.

“Okay. Right. So he started bothering me about that. Oh, and then I found out that the costumes and props aren’t going to be ready for this week.”

“What?” Now Bård sits up, looking more concerned. “Why the hell not?”

“Something about the budget. They couldn’t afford to get the parts, and the pieces were delayed, or some shit. I don’t know.” Vegard stirs sweetener into his tea and takes sip, wincing at the scalding heat. 

“Isn’t the production company in charge of that shit?”

“Yeah.”

“They’ve fucked us over. Again.” He slumps back into his seat. “Why do we even bother.”

Vegard sighs. “Because….because.” He can’t come up with a more coherent answer, and he’s so tired. “Because what else would we do?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Bård swallows and stares into his teacup. “We’ll never know. We never got the chance to find out.”

“Oh, stop. Would you really want to be doing anything else?”

Bård doesn’t answer. 

“Because I know I wouldn’t. We’re meant to be doing this, Bård. We’ve just…hit a snag. It’s happened before, and we got through it. We’ll get through it this time too, you’ll see. A year from now, who knows where we’ll be. We could be world famous.”

That gets a snort. “As if. And even if we were, do you really think it would change anything? I’d still be fucked up and you’d still be trying to save the world.”

Vegard blinks, trying to work out what Bård means by the last part of that statement. “You’re not…you’re not fucked up,” he manages at last. 

“Yeah I am. I’m fucked up and I’m going to bring you down with me.”

“Stop it,” Vegard says, resisting the urge to reach out and shake him. “Don’t ever say stuff like that. We’re going to fix this. No one is going down.”

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“Let me handle it for now. I have a meeting with the network tomorrow morning, and I’m going to find out just how our agreements and contracts break down with regards to the producers and ourselves. It may be that we’re not as dependent on them as we like to think. And if _that’s_ the case, well then who knows where we can go from there.”

_Such a fine speech. Too bad you don’t believe a word of it. And neither does he._

“And if we are as dependent on them as they want us to think? What then?”

“Then…we’ll ride it out to the end of the season, then pull the plug on IKMY.” 

“You don’t really mean that.”

“Of course I do. IKMY is only one project. It’s not the world. There’s always something more for us.”

But Bård shakes his head. “What if this is the end?”

“Do you want it to be the end?” For a second, Vegard is scared of the answer, that Bård is going to say yes, he does want it to be the end. But again, he shakes his head.

“I don’t want it to be the end…we’ve come this far, might as well keep it going.”

“That’s the spirit.” 

Bård huffs a laugh. He’s not convinced, but Vegard takes it as a hopeful sign. He sets his empty cup back on the table. “Well then. I should get going. I have a lot of stuff to get ready before tomorrow.”

“Have you been sleeping?”

The question is so direct that it catches him off guard. “What?”

“You look tired.” 

“Yeah, well…I’ve been busy.”

Bård looks away. “Sorry.”

Vegard sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, not like that…I didn’t mean that. Fuck. Don’t take it like that.”

“I’m not.”

 _Please don’t do this to me. I fucked up again._ “Bård, please…”

“It’s all right. I didn’t take it like that.”

“Okay.” Vegard swipes his fingers across his eyes. He’s so tired. “Then…I should go. Unless…you wanna get dinner? We can order in, we don’t have to go out or anything.”

But Bård shakes his head. “Nah. I think I just wanna…not do that tonight.”

 _Fuck…this is my fault my fault my fault, idiot!_ “Okay then,” he sighs. “I’ll just go then.” He stands, and resists the urge to add something else like, ‘promise me you will eat something at some point’, because he’s already fucked it up enough at this point. “I’ll see you tomorrow, after the meeting. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

Bård nods, and Vegard sees himself out. He forces himself to put away the image of his brother sitting quiet and withdrawn in his house, because there are other, bigger matters right now that need his full attention. 

 _This is it. There is no turning back,_ he thinks, looking over the endless sheets of contracts and agreements and paperwork, for the millionth time looking for something he’s missed and left out. There’s nothing. They’re set. 

All he has to do is not fuck it up.

_It’s you. Good fucking luck with that._

 


End file.
